Contained
by Cowgirl-CJ
Summary: Maybe Greggo should have thought with his head instead of his wallet. Response to an Unbound Improv challenge


**I do not own CSI or anything affiliated with it. If I did, I would be a very rich girl with 30 cars and 24 hour access to George Eads.**

**Here is yet another Unbound Improv response. (First and last lines given to you, etc., etc., etc.)**

* * *

"That's something you don't see every day," Grissom noted.

From where he stood in the doorway of the break room, he saw Nick and Warrick snickering in the corner, trying to look innocent and failing completely. In front of them, lab tech Greg Sanders was hopping around, trying desperately to get the plastic jar that was stuck on his head off. In the corner of his eye, he saw Warrick discreetly hand Nick a twenty dollar bill. At the sound of Grissom's voice, Greg jumped and stood at attention, like a soldier about to be chewed out by his C.O.

"Grissom, it's not what it looks like!" Greg insisted, his voice echoed and muttered at the same time by the container. Grissom walked up to Greg for a closer inspection.

"Greg," Grissom started, trying to grasp at his dwindling patience. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he continued, "How did you get an empty mustard container stuck on your head?"

Had the jar not been there, Grissom would have seen Greg's sheepish and nervous expression. Nick stepped in quickly.

"Aw boss, you know Greggo, who knows why he does the things he does?" he jumped in nervously. Grissom didn't need anymore answers; he knew everything he needed to know. Placing his hands on either side of the jar, Grissom tried twisting and yanking it, but only succeeded in making Greg yelped like a wounded dog.

"Hey guys, Brass is bringing in...oh my gosh," Sara stuttered, containing her laughter at the sight in front of her. Biting her lower lip, she waved a folder in the air.

"Don't start," came Greg's pathetic response to Sara's obvious attitude towards his situation, "Ow, Grissom! You're gonna snap my neck!"

"Well maybe you should have thought of that before you put the container on your head Greg," Grissom responded tightly as he looked around the break room for a lubricant.

"I don't want to know, do I?" Sara asked the men in the corner. Both Nick and Warrick simultaneously shook their heads.

"Sara, an officer's gonna bring the suspect into the interrogation room...why does Sanders have a container on his head?" Brass asked as he walked in, as if asking where the morning paper was.

"Don't ask," Grissom, Warrick, Nick and Greg said at once, though Greg's response was slightly muffled. Brass rolled his eyes.

"How much money do you get if you get that thing off of your head?" He asked.

"20 bucks," Greg responded, followed by a sharp "ouch," when Grissom pulled on the bucket hard. Catherine, who was simply walking by the break room, stopped and turned around.

"What did you do to him this time Grissom?" she asked in an almost serious tone. Grissom merely turned to her and scowled before returning to his work. He knew he could have done this easier, but he had no intention of turning down the chance to hurt Greg. Maybe next time he will think with his head instead of his wallet.

"I think we won the bet man," Nick whispered to Warrick, giving him a large smile.

"And you're gonna donate it to the coffee fund, right Nicky?" Grissom asked. Slumping his shoulders Nick responded like an irate school boy.

"Yes, Grissom."

"Captain Brass, here's the suspect," a young looking police officer stumbled, indicating the woman to his left, dressed in a showgirl outfit, complete with head dress, "Why is there a mustard jar on that guy's head?"

"Never mind Joseph," Brass sighed, rubbing his hands over his tired face.

"Does anyone have any hand cream?" Grissom asked exasperatedly, obviously annoyed with trying to yank Greg's head off.

"Oh, I might have just what you need," the showgirl suspect stated happily. Reaching into her right knee-high boot, she pulled out a tube of moisturizing cream, "It keeps my body smooth and shiny while I'm on stage."

Grissom accepted the cream, applied it to the edge of the bucket, and slipped the container off of Greg's head easily. With an odd look, he handed the cream back and forced a small smile at the girl, who replaced the tube of cream in her boot. Grissom looked back at his team and shrugged.

"Only in Vegas," he sighed.

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**As always, R&R!**


End file.
